


He Lives in You

by Tahkaullus01



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Also fuck Rhaegar, DON'T DENY IT!, Gen, Harrenhal, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow Needs a Hug, Prince that was Promised is Bullshit!, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegal's Okay Guys, The Knight of the Laughing Tree, The Mufasa Moment we all secretly want, The Son of Ice and Fire, Wandering Crow, and he's got the bump to prove it, and so is Ghost, but we knew that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahkaullus01/pseuds/Tahkaullus01
Summary: "Throne of the ancestors/Oh, son of the nation"After the Battle for the Dawn and telling his family the truth, Jon Snow leaves Winterfell to battle for a Crown he doesn't want in the name of a Queen his family doesn't trust. Lost, confused, and more than a little bit heartsick, all he wants is to hop on his new friend Rhaegal and fly away with Ghost at his side. And he might just do that if this nattering little man with naught but a stick and shield doesn't leave him alone.





	1. Into the Water

**Author's Note:**

> So I've wanted to do this since Season 6 but I also wanted to wait until after Jon learned the truth to do it. Now that he, Dany, and his family knows I can finally do so.  
> BTW if you're looking for an alternate ending to Season 8, you're reading the wrong story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night  
> And the spirit of life  
> Calling [oh, oh, iyo]  
> Mamela [oh, oh, iyo]

Tired.

That summed up how Jon felt about it all right now. It was supposed to be done, the Long Night over with, the Night King and his horde of Wights destroyed...so why in all the Hells on this earth wasn't it? The moment one problem ended another began...or maybe it hadn't ever been sorted in the first place, and he was right at the heart of it.

Aegon Targaryen...the name of the man who conquered Westeros, who burned Harrenhal and wiped out the Gardener line and to whom Torrhen Stark bent the knee...the name his mother, Lyanna Stark, had given him on her death bed.

Gods the looks his sisters had given him when Bran told them... but they weren't his sisters, they were his  _cousins_ and always had been. Arya, hard and strong like the North, had said not a word and just wandered off as seemed to be her way now whilst Sansa, unyielding and resilient as a Winter Rose, had lost her seemingly permanent frosty stare in exchange for shocked understanding, and somehow that had hurt more.

Shaking it off didn't do him any good and so, as soon as they'd made camp somewhat ironically at Harrenhal, he'd left Ser Davos in charge and vanished into the night on his horse. Jon couldn't be sure how far he rode at first, just having the wind in his hair and the clacking of hooves in his ears was enough for the time being. And that was brilliant because for just a few precious moments he didn't need to think. Because if he started thinking he'd feel the hurt again, the broken shards of his heart, knowing that his old statement of not being a Stark couldn't have been so true.

His father wasn't his father, his mother had always been so close, and his only true family had been an old man who died thinking he was alone in the world. It was a sick prank the gods played that he would find love in the only other Targaryen in existence, his own aunt...or maybe the sickness came from how little that factor bothered him, but then wasn't that what dragons did? 

_Daenerys did though..._

Why? Why of all things would she think that he would crave a crown? The Iron Throne was as far from his wishes as could be...so why didn't she see it? Why did she beg him not to tell anyone? She was the one who worked for it, she was the one who fought for it. He would have been happy with a small holdfast in the North, maybe make his father - his  _uncle's_ dream of rebuilding Moat Cailin a reality. So why didn't she trust that? He'd knelt, given up any claim...but she didn't trust that he would stay kneeling...why?

A sudden screeching overhead, coupled by his horse's sudden panicked rearing up, snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Easy boy!" He pulled hard on the reigns, urging the beast to relax as a far more powerful, magical, and terrifying mount came down to make a clumsy landing on his legs, tucking his wings in - one of which Jon could see was still taking on less weight than the other.* Sighing, realising that this usual meeting would have happened regardless of where he'd disappear off to when they made camp, Jon dismounted from his horse and with a sharp slap sent the animal back to his men. 

Determining to get it over with, he turned back to face the dragon at his back. "Still following me, Rhaegal?"

His attempt at levity was met with a mild huff from the giant creature, as if to say 'were you expecting different?' Honestly he wouldn't be surprised if Ghost hopped off of his back, his faithful Direwolf companion had not looked happy at being left behind and probably would have found a way to follow him. Probably give him the same look Rhaegal was giving him now too, that one that Sansa and Dany both seemed to have mastered though Gods willing they'd never admit such: That look that said he was being an idiot and to stop being such.

Well what could he do? Really? 

Frustration upon frustration finally found his breaking point and Jon let out a ragged growl before glaring up at the namesake of his real father. "Well what do you want me to do?! I don't want that bloody chair and I can't go back to Winterfell! I don't belong there or at Kings Landing! No one knows who I am, the people who do are pulling me in two different directions, and I'm sick of it!"

Rhaegal merely sniffed at him, really helpful that. 

For a moment misery warred with anger...which it inevitably won against and Jon let out another sad bark before stalking away from the dragon, chucking himself down on his arse in the grass, eyes glaring upwards at the stars that just twinkled back at him heedless of his plight.  _Fuckers. Why couldn't Fath- Lord Stark have just left me in Dorne? Would've made things so much simpler, fucking honourable northern fool._

The rather loud rustling of grass and a hot breeze over his head gave away that his dragon had followed him and also laid down to rest, ruining his own attempts to do just that. Huffing, Jon sat back up to look around. Right ahead he could see the God's Eye, the stars reflecting in the calm waters of the Rushing Falls to the west, and straight ahead was the Isle of Faces where this entire mess had been consummated. Bran said that was where his Mother and Father had married, a dual wedding of the Wierwood and the Faith of the Seven, North and South, Ice and Fire. A fucking prophecy that neither had turned out to have anything to do with.

"Quite the view you have here."

The sound of a new voice, so suddenly appearing beside him, sent Jon reeling. Instinctively he leapt to his feet, hand going for Longclaw and he span around to face...a short man dressed in mossy green, his face concealed by a cloak and hood of the same colour save for his mouth which was pulled up in a wizened grin. A woody staff that had seen better days occupied his right hand whilst on his back Jon could make out an old shield that likely was in similar condition. How in the world had he gotten so close?

Rhaegal also seemed shocked going by the way he rose from his spot to hiss threateningly at the little man. But the man merely turned his head to observe the dragon as if it were a horse and then returned his unseen gaze to Jon. "An impressive beast, Your Grace. Deserving of a King."

"Rhaegal's not a beast." The words escaped him before he could stop himself, overcoming his surprise at being snuck up on. And then the other bit reached his ears and Jon sneered before turning away. "And I'm not a King. Daenerys Targaryen is my Queen and the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

"Indeed." The little man murmured without inflection, and somehow Jon just knew his words hadn't even registered in his mind. Great, someone come to pull him in another direction. Well he didn't need that right now.

Stiffly, with all the grace of Stannis Baratheon, he turned his back on the stranger and stomped off towards a new patch, Rhaegal falling into step beside him sending another warning snap the little man's way. Such would have sent any sane man scampering, but this one just gave them a little chuckle that Jon found somewhat unnerving. Still he put the clearly mad little stranger out of his mind and continued on his way, looking for a spot to stop and rest. Gods knew he was weary enough. 

Finally he came to a stop again, much closer to the water's edge now and that short talk leaving him even wearier. Sighing, he took a couple of extra steps and knelt over the lake, dipped his hands into the water and splashed it into his face. It didn't help. And now he found himself staring at his face. That Stark face that Lady Catelyn had always despised. But was it Stark? What of it came from his mother? Would he even know? Everyone who knew her was dead including his father...and there was a thought. What of that face staring back at him came from Rhaegar? The nose? The mouth? Certainly not the eyes but...maybe if Dany were here, she was his brother after all...and if he shaved, maybe then he could see what he'd inherited from his father other than twenty years of war and misery. 

The reflection suddenly rippled out of focus as a stone suddenly skipped passed him. Who-?

"You know, some people would call a man who stares at himself all day quite vain." It was the little man again, muddied hands behind his back smiling at him knowingly, still ignoring the lethal lizard like creature who was again snarling at him. 

Frankly Rhaegal's attitude was beginning to match Jon's own as he huffed and turned away from the stranger who apparently didn't value his life at all.

Not that this deterred the man as he fell into step behind him, the squelching of his boots a stark contrast to the heavy thuds of riding footwear. “Alright, perhaps not vain. Considerate, maybe? Or do you prefer thoughtful?”

Another snarl from the dragon mirrored his rider’s growing annoyance at this unwelcome companion, who still rattled off words without a care in the world. "No wait, I know the one! You're brooding!"

"Yes congratulations." Jon ground out, picking up his pace just a touch which the man matched immediately. "You've found the word you're looking for, now would you leave me alone?"

"Oh would that I could, Your Grace." The little man replied lightly with an unseen shrug. "But then I'd have to coral your dragon, and I don't think he likes me that much."

_No. You don't say._ And then there was that title again. "And stop it with 'Your Grace.' Daenerys is the claimant, not me. And would you please stop following me."

Nope, the man was not going to do that as he finally hopped ahead of him, the shield on his back clattering against his cloak, with a mirth-filled smirk which just set him off growling in aggravation until at last he demanded he identify himself. Maybe if he got that he could threaten some sort of discipline from his overlord when they returned to camp. "Who are you?"

That halted them both, though his hanger on didn't seem fazed by the query. In fact he let out another mild laugh before waving it off. “Oh that is a boring answer from a boring man, Your Grace. A much more interesting question would be…”

And then suddenly he was right in front of Jon’s face, almost nose to nose despite his slighter stature, shrouded eyes barely twinkling from beneath hi hood as he asked back. “Who…are  _you?”_

_Who am...? Lunatic!_ His temper finally snapped and he was ready to lash out exactly what his name was...only to come short as two answers suddenly shoved themselves up his throat. Jon Snow? Aegon Targaryen? The fire died as quickly as it rose, leaving only a morose sigh to escape his lips. 

"I thought I knew..." He admitted, more for his own ears than his audience, eyes finding an interesting patch of grass between them "All my life I was sure I knew...now though...now I just don't know."

His admission brought in a sullen silence between them, only Rhaegal's hot breathing above them disturbing it as both men regarded their chosen observations, Jon the ground and his questioner Jon himself. At last though, whatever those hooded eyes were finally looking for caught it and the man pulled back, his smile for once a touch weaker. "Well...takes quite the man to admit his own uncertainty. Most would hide behind a name."

"I'm not most men." Jon wasn't boasting, he just didn't know that many other people who could come back from the dead. Beric had, but he was permanently dead now so that left only him.

"Hmm..." The little man nodded lightly, though Jon felt he was agreeing for entirely different reasons to his own, his hidden gaze once again pinning him to the ground. “Well, how fortunate then that I do know who you are.”

_What?_  Alarms rang in his head, eyes shooting up from the ground to stare at him. He couldn’t know, surely Sansa wouldn’t have done something so… but then maybe she would.

Then the laughing smile returned as the little man started listing off all the unimportant titles. “Why you’re Jon Snow! King in the North, White Wolf, Friend to Free Folk, Shield of the Realms of Men, the Resurrected, the Prince who Was Prom-”

“Enough!” That last one still irked him beyond all measure. It was Melisandre who foisted that stupid name on him first, only to deliver the same to Daenerys, ending in Arya disproving her twice over when she killed the Night King whilst the supposed champions struggled to stay alive. In short, Jon was fed up with the Prince Who Was Fucking Promised!

“Why is everyone obsessed with that bloody prophecy?!” He snapped furiously at the man, made angrier as he just danced around him carelessly. “What’s it even supposed to mean anyway?”

“It means,” the man replied happily, his staff suddenly coming between them, the end pointing at Jon’s face “that you have mud in your ears, lad. You should bathe more.” And then he broke into a fit of giggles as if his words were the funniest joke ever told.

_Gods, what sort of men marched south with me?_ Sharing a disbelieving glance with Rhaegal who looked just as fed up as him, Jon turned his back on the mad man one more time and tried to push off again. “Come on boy, let’s leave the man to his delusions.”

“Delusions is it?” How the-? When did he get in front of him again? For once though he sounded somewhat offended before poking him with his free hand as if lecturing a small boy. “And who exactly of the two of us here doesn’t even know who he is?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Sansa’s voice lecturing him about showing weakness in front of anyone. But seeing as the as-yet-to-be-named Queen in the North was on a list of people he didn’t want to think about right now it just left Jon so vexed that he ended up lashing out.

“Oh and I suppose you do?” He asked back derisively, shoving passed the man and heading off to find somewhere quiet where he wouldn’t be interrupted by mad men. Maybe Dorne.

“But of course I do lad.” The man’s voice called out over his shoulder, a tone of familiarity now colouring his speech. “You’re Lyanna’s boy.”

That name caught him short, shock and fear suddenly running through his veins as he span back around to stare at this little mudcaked man whose face he couldn't see. Who was he to make such a statement? But the man just smiled at him in that hidden way of his before uttering a simple word.

"Bye."

And then he was off.

But now Jon couldn't let him go, not least for the fact that anyone who knew  _that fact_ couldn't be let out of his sight. And more than that how did he know? No one should know, Fath... Lord Stark took that secret to his grave. Bran only knew through his magic, so  _how did this stranger know?_

Hells but he was fast too. For such a little man he had already put a decent amount of space between them, the Gods must have been powering him as for all the running Jon did to close the gap not once did he get any closer to catching him.

It felt like he’d chased him half way around the Gods Eye before the man finally stopped as suddenly as he’d started. At last at the man’s side again, Jon had to lurch onto his knees his lungs exhausted. He’d been less exhausted after the Battle of the Bastards.

Still not entirely recovered, he managed to pull his head up to look at the man who was now stood still, his focus straight ahead towards the Isle of Faces, as if in silent vigil.

“Who are you?” Jon asked again hoarsely. “How do you know who my mother was?”

“Is, young man, not was.” The man replied firmly, still not turning to face him. “I know who your mother is, just as I know who you father is.”

_So he knew them both?_ Hard to believe that anyone from the North was left to have known Rhaegar, then again maybe that pointed to his own mental state considering how he had worded it. Shaking his head, Jon finally pulled up to also stare at the Isle, the site of his parents’ marriage. “No, I think I got that one right, seeing as both died years ago.”

“Nope!” Suddenly the green man was alive again hopping away towards the water’s edge where only now Jon could see there was a small row boat waiting there. “Wrong three times, Your Grace. Your parents live on, your father most of all! Come lad, come! He’s anxious to see you!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the voice  
> with the fear of a child  
> Answers [oh, oh, iyo]  
> Oh, mamela [oh, oh, iyo]


	2. Into the Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ubukhosi bo khokho [Throne of the ancestors]  
> We ndodana ye sizwe sonke [Oh, son of the nation)]

The journey felt longer than it was, as if some magic had fallen upon them as the little rowboat cut through the water, or at least that’s what Jon thought but then he was the one doing the rowing. His odd guide had quite conveniently pointed out that he was rather slight in form and was suited for hiding and surprising rather than heavy physical work. Convenient, that.

Still it gave him time to actually look at the man who had somehow convinced him to go on this fool errand, whilst he still had his hood up and crouched more than sat in the boat, there were a few distinctions Jon could make out about him. Namely his jaw, it had a firm rough look to it not unlike other Northmen but his height gave away the place he called home. Crannogmen weren't big or particularly strong, which often brought scorn upon them even from their fellow Northerners...but it was a Reed who had protected Bran all on her own in the Land of Always Winter so Jon wasn't about to test this one's worth.

For the most part though his unseen gaze remained upon the stars, as if they had some strange divine meaning that only greenseers might understand. Or maybe he just liked the view, Jon could understand that considering the amazing moonless sea of twinkling lights that shone down on them, their sparkles reflecting off the water of the God's Eye itself creating a double image only disturbed by the breaking of the oars as the boat made its journey to the most sacred of lands. 

Jon could admit venturing to the Isle of Faces had him concerned, it was an unspoken pact that no one should ever come to this little green island for fear of absolute retribution. Supposedly the Children of the Forest and their chosen Green Men protectors lived here, 'superstition' the Southerners would call such stories, 'heresy' the Faith of the Seven would cry...and yet the closer they got, the more Jon wondered just what he was going to find here.

Was Rhaegar really here? It seemed impossible. How could he have fooled his Kingsguard? But then, Lord Stark had fooled the whole world for the rest of his life so maybe it was possible for his real father to have done it too...but then why stay? 

All these questions and others rattled in Jon's head almost as hard as the boat did as it finally touched land. Upon feeling it, the little man hopped up from his perched stance and off onto the grassy ground, ushering Jon to follow. "Quickly, quickly! We only have so much time!"

"Time until what? Wait!"

But he didn't, the little man rushing off into a nearby clump of trees leaving Jon to hurry after him. Ducking his head in for a second all he saw was more twisting patches of green, Rhaegar was in here? A roar in the distance pulled his head back to stare at the Dragon who had been forbidden to join them, he sounded just as lost as Jon felt about all this. This was insane! Following the ramblings of a mad man in the hopes of meeting someone who wasn't even there for his birth! And yet...

Somehow Jon found himself diving into the wood, shoving branches out of the way and climbing over roots. He couldn't explain why he was doing it, only that some part of him needed to see the proof of his father's existence with his own eyes. And so he kept pushing through the dark patches, where the starlight couldn't touch him, looking for a way through...

"Don't dawdle, boy!" The call came from above him and suddenly he spotted the crannogman staring down at him from the tree to his right, waving his stick in the air. "Hurry up! We're going to miss him!"

"No wait, hold on! How do you-!"

"Come on!" The man's insistence cut through Jon's questions and before he could start up again he'd leapt off of his perch and was dashing through the shrubbery himself, yelling over his shoulder "Come on!"

Without any other option, Jon rushed after him. The only way to his answers would be to follow his guide through the wood until he either caught him or they arrived at wherever it was the man was taking him. But Gods it was hard to keep track of him, he moved so fast that Jon had to listen for him more than spot the next tree he was leaping to. It took every last trick he'd learned as a Brother of the Nights Watch and then all of the Free Folk lessons regarding hunting to even barely manage this, all the while making sure he didn't trip over a root and break something.

The light grew dimmer the deeper he went, and more and more Jon had the dark feeling that whatever he was going to find would not be something he'd forget in a hurry...if he got out of here at all. Yet still he pushed on, until the man's calls were little more than the distant howling of a wolf, and still he ran. The shrubbery caught on his cloak, tearing all of Sansa's hard work to the point he just tossed it off and still he ran. The light was all but gone now, snuffed out by the trees and yet still he ran. 

And ran. And ran. And - "STOP!"

The hand appeared right in front of Jon's face so suddenly and so close that he almost ran straight into it, his boots digging into the dirt as he ground to a halt, his nose barely missing the palm. The hand retracted, revealing the hooded man's jaw pulled into a stern frown as he brought the hand to his lips in a shushing motion before pulling ahead. Starlight illuminated the way as the little man pushed some reeds away with his stick and peered downwards. 

After a moment the mouth turned up in a smile and he gestured for Jon to join him. "Come, lad. Look down there."

Down? Had they come to some sort of burial ground? No stories ever mentioned that. Tense and confused, Jon stepped out of the trees into a starlit clearing. Had he gotten his hopes up for nothing? 

But the man continued to usher him forwards and so he decided to just get it over with. Joining him, Jon saw that there was a small rocky outlet that was reflecting light from beneath and, further afield, a Wierwood tree bathed in the same cool glow. A glance at the man offered no answers, merely an encouraging nod to go and see for himself. Seeing no other alternative, he held back a sigh and stepped through the reeds and onto the outcrop to see what awaited him.

It was a pool. The clearest water Jon had ever seen anywhere in his life, reflecting the stars and trees and everything else back upwards, including the face that now covered part of the magical vista. For Jon though it was the evidence of disappointment and madness of his guide that he needed and he snorted, too exhausted to be angry. 

"That's not Rhaegar." He muttered, unable to muster any kind of emotion as he turned to leave. "It's just my reflection."

But the guide's mouth also dropped in a frown. "Rhaegar? Why would I bring you to see Rhaegar? I brought you to see your father."

"Aye, and Rhaegar Targaryen is my father." Jon retorted, the first embers of annoyance starting to emerge. "And he's been dead, like I told you, for over twenty years."

And then the man - the  _mad idiot -_ had the gall to laugh at him lightly, patting his shoulder as if this were some funny joke. "Oh Jon Snow, truly you know nothing, don't you?"

Once again the fight went out of Jon, that old adage that had stuck to him since his time with Ygritte coming back to haunt him again. What was it he'd missed this time? In answer, the little man pushed him back towards the pool, urging him to look again. 

What good a second look could do Jon didn't know but for whatever reason he found himself staring back down at his reflection. A light breeze suddenly blew over them and the water rippled, throwing the perfect mirror-image of himself into disarray though he could still more or less make out himself. Yet not a thing of it looked like Rhaegar, his brow creasing in frustration Jon tried not to shout over it. What was he supposed to be seeing here that showed him his father?

And then something about the image began to shift, the lines on his reflected face suddenly seeming deeper, his bearded jaw growing thicker...what was happening? 

"Answer me a question if you will, lad." The crannogman's voice blew over him, suddenly sounding miles away. "What is a father? Is it the man whose seed quickened your mother's womb, only to go off and die forgotten?"

Jon barely heard all of that, his eyes now fixing on the face staring back at him; the hardened brow brought on by difficult decisions and harsh lessons, the firm set stare of dark clouded eyes built over years as a soldier and ruler of the North...that wasn't Rhaegar, that had never been Rhaegar...

"Or is it the man you moulded yourself after?" The voice whispered to him, "The man who lives on in you?"

This was impossible! Jon knelt down closer to the water, seeing if that changed anything, the figure however just did likewise - one leg knelt whilst the other remained bent, left arm on his knee - their eyes never breaking contact with each other. That face wasn't Jon's...but it was one he knew nonetheless.

"...Jon." The man's thick Northern accent rippled through the pool, and it took all he had not to jump back.

"Father?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait  
> There's no mountain too great [Oh, oh, iyo]  
> Hear the words and have faith [Oh, oh, iyo]


	3. In Your Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have faith [Hela, hey mamela]  
> Hela, hey mamela  
> Hela, hey mamela...

"Father?"

The winds seemed to pick up at his utterance, the reflected image of Eddard Stark beneath him shimmering and shattering. The voice hadn't come beneath though, but ahead. Fear and anticipation gripped Jon's heart as he pulled his eyes away from the pool to look upwards again. The white bark of the Wierwood Tree, where once it had reflected light, now seemed to glow with its own intensity and the red leaves themselves seemed to come alight with fire.

But it was the face, that ancient carving left by the Children, that caught his eye the most. No longer did it have the jagged etchings of a blade on bark but the cut precision of a face... _his_ face. The face of the man Jon had long called Father.

Ned Stark's gaze fell upon Jon and almost immediately they took on that same saddened look he'd always carried when they conversed at Winterfell, as if he wanted to say something but never could.

"Jon...you are lost."

"Lost?" Jon's repetition was almost lost behind a bemused laugh that he caught with a cough, his disbelief at what he was seeing slowing wearing away. "Is that what they call it where you are now?"

His joke almost pulled a smile to both their faces, but the underlying truths that had never been told between them prevented either from forming such. Indeed it re-lit the mild bitterness Jon had been carrying with him into the South. "You lied to me."

Such a simple statement, yet it carried more than two decades worth of decisions that had brought him to where he was now. Gods would that he could express it more, but for that Ned would need to be more than a face on a tree.

For an age Ned remained silent...and then the wind picked up, rushing through the burning leaves and carrying his response. "I did."

_That's it?_ Jon heard his voice scream in his head.  _That's all you have to say? The lies you told, to your friends, to your bannermen, your children...Gods_   _even your own_ wife!  _All you have to say is 'Yes?!'_

"Did you expect an apology?" Something of his feelings regarding the simplicity of the face's response must have shown on his own as Stark's own for lost the sadness in exchange for that grim Northern firmness, a face Jon had used many times himself when he was certain in his decision. "All I did, I did in the name of protecting you just as your mother, my sister, begged me to do on her death bed. You lived, I kept my promise, and I will  _not_ be shamed for doing so."

"You committed treason against your best friend!"

"A best friend who would have had you smothered in your sleep had he known who you were." Ned said back, still certain but also with a returning sadness. "I loved the man, but I wasn't blind. If anyone had known the truth you wouldn't have lived to see the Greyjoy Rebellion."

"And Lady Stark?" Jon pushed, unwilling to be swayed despite knowing all this reasoning to be right and true. "What of her? She lived every day in Winterfell expecting me to usurp Robb, Hells all her children, and you didn't say a word?!"

"Deceiving Cat was...a hard choice." Ned had the decency to admit, a troubled look looming over his brow for a time. "But when you were born, I hardly knew her. Her family was elevated by the Targaryens, they only sided with us after Jon Arryn and I married Hoster Tully's daughters. What if word reached them that I was harbouring Rhaegar Targaryen's trueborn heir? What would have happened to the North, Jon?"

What would have happened? Jon wanted to say nothing...but then Dany's own arguments, her pleas not to tell anyone echoed in his head...the Riverlords might have fallen into chaos...and then Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister...

But no. That was the early days. "What about later then? When you did know her? Why not tell her then?"

And at that - finally - Ned's face went from troubled to shamed. At last they were getting to the point. "Aye, I should have told her then. When Sansa was born, or perhaps after Theon joined us...I should have told her then...but by that time...I believed my own lie."

Believed his...no...surely not. "You can't mean to say you kept it up because you were  _jealous!"_

"You were  _my_ son, Jon!" The sharp tone that suddenly overcame Stark's tone tore into Jon's disbelief, accompanied by a hard gust of wind and the blaze of the Wierwood leaves seemed to grow in strength. "Lyanna gave birth to you, Rhaegar provided the seed, but  _I_ carried you North,  _I_ raised you in Winterfell,  _I_ taught you...you are  _my_ son, and no one else's."

For a moment there was silence again, the wind dying down and the glow calming some, as if reflecting Ned's need to recompose himself. Jon too took the chance to recover from the revelation, Eddard Stark, good honourable Lord Stark of the North, had kept up the pretence with his wife because he'd wanted Jon,  _really_ wanted him...to be his son? He didn't mean for it to, but that admittance kindled something in him that had been dying of late: the hope that he'd meant more to Lord Stark than just duty.

But with that rekindling came the reemergence of another bitter truth. "But I'm not. I'm  _his_."

"No." Stark returned, firmly. "You are not. You're more. Neither North nor South. Ice  _and_ Fire, Jon."

"But what does that mean?"

"...I don't know." He admitted, echoing the answer of every person Jon had ever asked when it came to prophecy, resurrection, or any bloody thing regarding magic. And then he carried on. "But I do know that, if left unchecked, Ice will freeze the land to the root...and Fire will burn it all to ashes. Ice and Fire, Jon." Ned murmured. "You're the only one...the  _only one..._ you  _must_ be Ice  _and_  Fire."

"So now  _you_ want me to take the Iron Throne too?!" Jon yelled at him furiously, is that where this was going? "You want me to walk into that cesspit of a city and sit on that chair of broken swor-?"

"THE IRON THRONE IS A POISON!" The loud booming, so unlike Ned's voice, accompanied by the Wierwood leaves again blazing and a rumbling beneath his feet with rage unattainable by man sent Jon reeling back again. Those had  _not_ been his father's words. The angered gaze fixed still upon Jon, the voice for the Old Gods continued. "Not since the Andal Desecration has something so vile touched our lands! It must  _not_ sit another. The Dragons' reign has ended, Winter has been halted. Neither must come again!"

Those ominous words were left to rattle inside Jon's head...and the more he thought about it the more horrifying ideas he came up with about what Lord Stark was telling him to do. Destroying the Iron Throne he could understand, Hells he'd do it himself if he didn't think Dany would burn him alive before he could, she was wary enough of him right now as it was...but the rest, about Winter being halted...something inside was telling him it wasn't the Night King he was being warned about.

"Ice and Fire, Jon." Ned repeated on the wind, his voice suddenly sounding weaker than it had before. It was enough to knock Jon out of his thoughts to properly look at the Wierwood Tree again, and to his mounting horror he could see the human face begin to crack and shift, turning back into woody bark, and all the while Ned repeated "Ice and Fire."

"No...no! Wait!" Before his words were out Jon had leapt into the pool and was staggering towards the Tree on the other side. "Don't go!"

"Ice and Fire." The tree repeated, Ned's face contorting outwards, stretching until the face was barely recognisable as one anymore. "Ice and Fire..."

"FATHER!"

But he was gone. Replaced by a mockingly cheerful grin, as if the Old Gods themselves were laughing at Jon's plight as he finally pulled himself out of the pool and , barely noticing his sodden state, crumpled onto the bark, little more than a boy again calling for his father. "Don't leave me alone..."


	4. Chapter 4

From a distance, Howland Reed watched the lad as he spoke with Ned. And for a moment it was as if he was back in Dorne, watching Lyanna and Ned say their farewells all over again - so much to say and yet so little time to say it in. When he'd had the vision of him marching south under the Dragon Queen's banner, he'd known it was time to act or else watch the boy break in a way that he would never recover from.

Even now, as Jon sobbed for the loss of his father a second time, Howland knew he had done right. This he could recover from, the things he would do from hereon out he could also withstand...but the loss of his beloved in the name of duty? Experience had shown him that such wounds were the kind you died from.

A muted huffing at his side caught his eye and he glanced over at the foliage where a pair of Wierwood red eyes stared back at him, anxiety shining in them as well as a need to comfort his human. Well, who was he to deny a Direwolf anything? He certainly never managed it with Lyanna, and so he merely nodded with a small sad smile.

The eyes disappeared into the green again, a mere rustling of leaves telling him there had ever been anything there at all, before the large white figure of his Lady's ghost reappeared on the far bank of the pool beneath the Laughing Wierwood Tree where Jon remained unmoved. The first few nudges barely got any reaction from him, but then the wolf nuzzled himself under Jon's arm and the lad finally realised he wasn't alone.

"...Ghost?" Howland barely made out his startled whisper before he tossed whatever questions he had and pulled his wolf into a deep embrace, more a boy than a man now, quiet shaky breaths the only giveaway that he was crying again.

"You have a very loyal friend there." Howland commented after he'd made his way around the pool to stand beneath the Tree with them both, Jon still kneeling and hugging Ghost tight. "Frightfully intelligent too. He was here even before me and I was here long before you, as if he knew this was where you would meet again."

"...Well..." The lad murmured, finally pulling away to offer a watery smile at his wolf, "He's made a habit of showing up when I least expect him. Haven't you boy?"

Ghost just tipped his head at him before nudging him with his nose again, the meaning quite clear; it was going to take more than asking a big man with red hair to take him away to separate them.

As nice as the moment was though, the world could only wait so long for Jon to stand again and so Howland stepped forward and patted his shoulder for his attention. "So...you spoke with your father...how do you feel about that?"

"I..." He could see it on the tip of his tongue, the words 'I don't know' ready to be spoken, but then Jon pulled back and a look of thought crossed his features before turning his eyes to the Laughing Tree again, noticing how the branches swayed in the breeze. "I think...that the winds are changing."

Oh? So he had spotted that, the winds now blowing East where once they blew South, but did he understand what that meant? Instead of offering an answer, Howland just nodded lightly beneath his cloak. "Well, some would say change is good, necessary even. Is that not what your Queen will offer?"

"...Maybe..." The uncertainty was clear as Jon spoke it, his shifting gaze filled with memories and considerations, before he let out a sigh and ruffled Ghost's fur again. "And maybe not."

"Oh? So then you will return North?"

The wish to do so was there, he could see it the moment he uttered the words, the desire to go home...but then the wish died as a dark frown crossed Jon's face and he finally took to his feet again, merely shaking his head before glancing up at the stars. "No. That way's closed to me too."

"So...what then?"

The brooding gaze remained on the sky for a moment longer before Jon glanced down to face him again. "'Ice will freeze the land to the root and Fire will burn it all to ash' that's what Father said...and I think I know what he meant."

And then there was that troubled look again, the one that told Howland that he really didn't like the conclusion he'd come to. "If I do what he wants me to, it'll divide the Seven Kingdoms more than ever, half the Realm will hate me the moment I do it...but more than that I'd be defying Dany and..." ah there was the root of it coming, the almost shamed expression coming out. "it means I'll have to stand against Sansa and Arya as well...how am I ever going to face them if I do this?"

Family's the problem is it? He could understand that, but a huff from Ghost between them told him all he needed to know of what Lyanna would do if she heard her son speaking like this. And so, in her memory, he would do what she could not.

WHACK!

Jon didn't feel the pain until a second after Howland's stick had removed itself from his skull, when he did though he went reeling backwards, hands going for his head. "SEVEN HELLS, WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!"

"What does it matter?" Howland asked back, chuckling a little at the lad's stricken look. "It's in the past."

"Yes but it still hurts!" Jon snapped back, rubbing his brow one more time, still wincing as he finally left it alone. "Gods, I'll be feeling that for a week!"

"Ah yes, the future does have its own aches too." Howland acknowledged sagely, offering the lad a commissary pat on the shoulder and barely raised an eyebrow when he was shrugged away. "But the brilliance of the future is that it is unwritten! You can make of it what you want! And whilst there will be pains along the way, the hurts of the past will teach you how to navigate them."

And then he took another swing at the lad. He saw it coming this time and hopped back, clearly seeing how much it'd hurt to be clobbered again by it.

"There!" Howland crowed at the boy the moment he found his feet again. "You see? You  _can_ learn! So tell me, Your Grace, what are you going to do?"

There was a moment of silence between them...and then Jon smirked before stepping towards him, hands outstretched. "Well first...I'm gonna take your stick!"

_Eh?_

A second later, his stick was out of his hands and in those of the strong Northman before being tossed away back towards the branches.

"No!" The crannogman launched off in a panic, he couldn't lose that stick! That stick had been in his family for generations, it offered fine learning material which he would happily demonstrate to that boy the moment he got it back. Of all Lyanna's traits why did that suddenly have to manifest?

He wouldn't get the chance though, even as he picked it back up the air around him suddenly burned hotter, a shriek suddenly piercing the air as the King's Dragon suddenly soared over him to land on the Isle of Faces.

"No! No! Get off this island at once!" He yelled at the creature, but Rhaegal took no notice of him as he knelt down to let Jon up. Ghost was the first to hop on though, as if a Direwolf riding a Dragon was something he'd been doing all his life, followed by his chuckling master. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"

"Isn't it obvious?" Jon asked, situating himself properly on his dragon's back. "Those Kingdoms won't conquer themselves, you know?"

With that parting declaration he turned away to whisper something against Rhaegal's neck and a moment later the dragon was picking up speed, flapping his massive wings which blew poor Howland off his feet. When he got back up, the dragon had left the ground and was soaring back towards Harrenhal.

A moment passed...and then Howland crowed joyously at the departing form.

"GOOD! GO ON! GET OUT OF HERE!" He'd done it! He'd actually gotten through to that thick head of his. He couldn't help himself and tossed his head back laughing. When that wasn't enough he let out a howl that even Jon's Direwolf would be proud to hear. 

When he finally came down from his high, Howland retreated back into the trees to smile at the Laughing Tree again. "We did it, Lya. He's on his way."

And maybe it was because he was so sure of it that he finally felt the weight of the shield on his back, Crannogmen weren't meant to carry such things. He'd been carrying it for so long, maybe it would be good to finally put it to rest. So, with a heavy sigh, he pulled the shield off his back and situated it among the branches of the Laughing Tree, so that the painting of the same tree faced outwards. 

The Hour of the Wolf had ended, the Rise of the Dragons had passed. Now it was time for the Song of Ice and Fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this last one. Not sure I like it very much, but it had to be done. And now it's done.
> 
> If anyone wants to make a story where Jon runs his own little Reconquest of Westeros post-Long Night, well here's somewhere to start I suppose. 
> 
> As for me, I'm done for now. Heart's still broken and all that jazz. See ya.

**Author's Note:**

> He lives in you  
> He lives in me  
> He watches over...  
> everything we see 
> 
> Into the water  
> Into the truth  
> In your reflection...
> 
> He Lives in You


End file.
